


The Rise and Fall of the Amica Four

by Wowieimabird



Category: Buzzfeed The Try Guys (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 18:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14118315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wowieimabird/pseuds/Wowieimabird
Summary: As few tales begin, it was a relatively normal weathered night, and the Staples Center was up in flames. So far, there had been no sign of the Los Angeles heroes, and the sirens in the distance did not sound any closer or any farther away than they did five minutes before. They were at a standstill.





	The Rise and Fall of the Amica Four

**Author's Note:**

> Not yet proof-read cause I'm lazy. 
> 
> Also there's going to be no slash parings

As few tales begin, it was a relatively normal weathered night, and the Staples Center was up in flames. So far, there had been no sign of the Los Angeles heroes, and the sirens in the distance did not sound any closer or any farther away than they did five minutes before. They were at a standstill. 

A wave of confusion rippled through the crowd as a man, a potential hero, unknown to them, seem to descend from the flames of the sporting center. He was floating over the crowd, armor seemingly made from a void in space, everything about this new man hidden in shadows.

“Where are your heroes now?” He bellowed, surveying the crowd. The armorer man dropped onto the ground, and crowd inched away, many fleeing.

Across the city, the Mystic laid on the concrete, unconscious from the explosion that sent him sailing off the rooftop.

The Blue Warrior’s final shield broke away, washing soaking into the ground. The final blow fell on his weak side, sending him to the ground.

Furyborn was forced onto the ground, heavy chains digging into his arms, breaking the skin and drawing blood. The henchmen didn't seem to care.

“I am your hero now! I am your Creator! You mortals are all alone. None can stop my rule, mark this day as the day Los Angeles fell.”

In the shadows, mere feet from where the Creator stood, the Bengal was lain in wait.

He moved in for the attack.

The Creator’s fist met the blade before it could skewer the chunk in the armor, blood gushing. The Bengal pulled away, and moved back in for another blow before the Creator could blink. But iron only met iron, not skin. The Creator shot back up into the sky, a scowl hidden beneath the mask.

“We all know who is stronger here, Bengal. You cannot win this fight, so why don't we stop before you get hurt. Surrender.” Bengal could hear the coy grin on Creator’s face.

The Bengal gave his own cry grin back, and dropped his blade.

“Good choice-” the Bengal held up his hand and squeezed. The Creator’s face contorted into pain. The Bengal’s nerves burned alight with the mirrored pain that he was using against the Creator. The Bengal truly hated doing this, all the pain he inflicted on others was mirrored onto him. But unlike the Creator, Bengal had grown to cope with it.

The Creator let out a low groan, holding back a scream. Bengal could feel the skin slowly being ripped apart, blood flowing free from the gashes. The Creator held up a shaking hand, and shot himself backwards. Bengal lost his hold on the Creator, and his body fell into its usual numbness.

Behind him, the crowd of those who didn't flee was silent. Somewhere along the fight, the firefighters had arrived, and we're currently working on the fire.

“Get to Holt Avenue in Tustin. The fight’s not over yet.” The Bengal shouted to the idle policemen. Bengal turned, and began running to the fallen heroes.

On Holt Scribe, on top one of the many residents rooftops, Blue Warrior laid on the ground and watched as the Detonator waltzed about the rooftop, dropping bombs and explosives as if they were rose petals at a wedding. One of the henchmen emerged back on the roof, carrying a seemingly unconscious Mystic in his arms, letting the man fall into a heap onto the ground. Though even from here, Blue Warrior could see the Mystic’s eyes twitching behind his eyelids.

The fight was still raging on, even though the entire opposing side was still standing while the heroes laid on the ground, drained of energy.

Then Blue Warrior sprouted an idea. One that would get him and Furyborn out of chains. Though the Mystic’s help would be ideal, falling seven stories, barely saved by the water landing Blue Warrior had provided, would completely ruin someone’s body. The Mystic was likely not getting up anytime soon, even if he was awake.

“Furyborn listen, I've got an idea to get us out of these chains.” Blue Warrior whispered. Chains rattled behind him, and he could tell Furyborn had sat up.

“Tell me.”

On the building next to where the heroes lay, the Bengal was hidden behind a ventilation unit, watching the situation unfold. There wasn't much time to waste, so the moment the henchmen all turned away from the Bengal, he ran.

He jumped.

He landed, and everybody turned to look at him, eyes all wide in a state of mild shock.

“Anyone wanna play?” A dagger flicked into each of his hands, and the henchmen moved to attack.

The chains fell loose around Blue Warrior’s wrists, and his hands shot up, water surging forwards to hit the Detonator square in the chest. She fell hard to the ground, head cracking against the ground. The Henchmen stood behind her held up their guns, but Furyborn, also free of his shackles, just snapped his fingers and the men were engulfed in an inferno. The fire searched out for more targets, soon finding a home on the backs of three henchmen barreling towards Bengal.

Blue Warrior found the Detonator back on her feet, and he was soon occupied in keeping her hand as far away from the button on her belt. Water would drive forward with the force of a tsunami and send her back onto the ground, confusing and blinding her momentarily.

Furyborn aimed his inferno attacks towards the men advancing Bengal more and more, while still getting hits on the ones trying to attack him. Bullets dissolved in the heat, his hands still wet and sticky with his blood. Bombs and explosives flew past his face, narrowly hitting him.

Somehow, the Mystic was able to prop himself up against the entrance door, barely conscious, and summoning all the explosives on the rooftop into a giant, deadly, metal ball floating mere feet from the ground.

Bengal found he had brought a knife to a gunfight, literally.

Even though the Bengal found himself at the disadvantage, he still moved with swiftness only an animal long into his hunt would know, disarming two of the men advancing to him, while a third pierced a bullet through his arm.

“That’s not very nice.” The Bengal dropped his knife and dove as another bullet sailed through the air. He held up his hand and sent the same pain he had given the Creator through this henchmen’s body, his nerves screaming. The henchman collapsed to the ground.

Bengal sprinted back towards where the Detonator and Blue Warrior were caught in battle, and the ball of explosives shot into the air, thousands, thousands of feet into the air.

“Warrior!” Mystic shouted from across the roof, slowly slipping down the wall he was propped up on. Water surged away from the Detonator and into the air, chasing the ball of explosives high. It enclosed the ball just as Detonator his the button.

The Mystic collapsed as they exploded, but the Blue Warrior kept the water bubble intact as the shock rained through his veins. He let the water fall onto the city street below, where police cars and ambulances and firetrucks were all lined up, waiting. Blue Warrior collapsed as well, awake, but unable to stand.

Detonator attempting running, but Bengal held up his hand and let his nerves sing with pain. The Detonator collapsed in agony. Bengal fell back onto his knees, Furyborn stumbling over to the Mystic before kneeling next to him.

Nobody could say anything as the police finally streamed onto the rooftop, as they dropped down from their helicopters to survey the scene at hand. 

Who could say anything when the heroes everyone had always subconsciously thought invincible were being rolled down to the sidewalk in stretchers?

\----

It was just like when the heroes first began popping up in the cities. It was all you would see on the headlines. ‘New York’s New Hero,’ ‘Masked Man Saves Young Girl on Meyer Bridge,’ ‘Lady Whipstorm Brings Thousands of Fans to Chicago.’ And when the first interviews with the heroes rolled in, everyone went berserk.

But now it wasn't the people looking up at these heroes in awe and curiosity, but when the headlines first aired it made people look away with fear. ‘Who is The Creator?’ ‘Have our Heroes Finally Been Outmatched?’

This time, there were no interviews. No sightings of the Los Angeles heroes. Other heroes, from nearby cities, came when they were needed. But the Bengal, the Mystic, Blue Warrior, and Furyborn all remain elusive.

And in a small apartment near Santa Monica Pier, four strangers sat around a table and talked for the first time outside of their identities.

“Is everyone feeling better? For the most part?” Keith asked.

“The fall completely destroyed my back, I can't do field work for another few weeks,” said Zach, massaging his temples.

“Seven stories can do that to a person.” Nobody laughed at Eugene's attempt of lightheartedness. The room remained sullen.

“That wasn’t, fighting. Normal fighting, for the Detonator,” said Ned, steering the conversation in a New direction.

“Definitely. The last time we fought it was a lot different.” Keith concluded.

“These two events happened so close in time and far away in proximity that it’s obvious they were traps.” Zach said.

“The Creator even said they were traps . Basically said. He was crying out about how the heroes had fallen and that he was now in charge of Los Angeles. He completely disregarded the government.”

“It’s a team then. The Detonator and the Creator.” Said Ned.

“There’s gotta be more people in on it, like what about Snakemouth. He vanished months ago.” Zach offered.

“At the moment, we need to worry about where they’re hiding, and what their next attack will be on.” Eugene looked around the table. Nobody was making eye contact. Nobody was loosing.

It felt like they were already losing the fight.

The next day, Mystic appeared on the news.

“These people, specifically the Creator, is not one of us, never has been one of us, never will be one of us. We do not currently know their motive, but I can assure you all that it is currently being looked into by a specialist team. We will learn their techniques and weaknesses, and we will fight back. We will not lay in hiding.” Mystic held his breath as a wave of questions were being shouted across the crowd. One louder than the rest.

“You say we as if you’re speaking for more than one person, Mystic.” An interviewer cried out. “Who exactly are you speaking for? There’s only one person standing on that stage, and it’s you.” There was a flurry of movement across the crowd as cameras we drawn out. Mystic straightened his back, and said without a quiver in his voice;

“I speak for the newly established team of elites, the Amica Four.”


End file.
